Torn Apart
by Bittah
Summary: Work in progress. Tale of two girls' friendship and betrayal. Updated 2-04-05
1. Something's missing

Disclaimer: I don't own the movie characters, Disney does. I do own a few in this, others are borrowed from ppl.

Something abnormal about the air was bothering the dark emerald eyes of a seventeen-year-old girl. Her stomach lurched as she grabbed her newspapers roughly out of the tall man's hands, ignoring his bird-like eyes glaring after her. Her eyes searched for her normal selling partner, who she had not seen since the night before. _Shootah's never late_, she thought to herself, scowling at the newsboys who were staring at her from their places in line. 

Bitter did not believe she was much to look at, making sure she hid her figure with an oversized men's short-sleeved dress shirt and a pair of dark khaki shorts that only stayed up with the help of a pair of suspenders hidden well under her outer shirt. She hissed inappropriately as one boy let out a high pitched catcall directed towards her and smirked happily as he took a step back from her. 

"Hey Bittah, need a selling partner?" a girl called from behind her. She turned to see a thin, athletic looking girl running to catch up to her, decked out in mostly black, a trace of sweat on her forehead as she approached. 

"Yeah," Bittah stated simply, shifting her papers and pushing past the crowding newsies, heading straight into the depths of Brooklyn. 

"Hoid Spot got in a verbal fight wit someone last night," Irish Flare said, trying to start up a conversation. 

Bitter's eyes flickered. "You know who?" she asked.

"From de sounds of de voice it was a goil, why you ask?" IF said, scanning the streets for a decent place to sell.

"Jist wonderin'," Bitter stated without emotion.

Irish Flare nodded and stopped to convince a young man into buying a paper. He took one after looking her over. Her cyan eyes winked intentionally and fingered through her black hair for a minute as he handed her the coin. Bitter rolled her eyes and looked around, using more skillful tactics to get a kindly old woman to buy a paper from her. 

"So wheah's Shootah? You two are usually inseparable," IF asked as she made her way back to Bitter's side. Bitter cringed slightly at the sound of her best friend's name. The two had been fighting lately, although no one seemed to know what was going on between the two girls. 

_***_

"Bittahsweet Harmony, I will not be around forevah, ya know," Shooter screamed at her friend.

_ Bitter took a drag of her cigarette. "Don't use my full name," she stated._

_ "I'll call ya what I want, I gave ya yer nickname an' can use it anyway I want to," Shooter threw up her hands as Bitter didn't respond and left the room. "You're hopeless!" she shouted behind her._

***

"Bittah?" IF repeated her name for the third time as the girl dazed in and out.

"Oh sorry, what was dat?" she asked, snapping out of her memories.

"Nevermind," IF said.

The day was grueling, the heat overtaking the pleasure of being out in the streets and neither of the girls talked much as they sold newspaper after newspaper. As soon as Bitter was done selling, she let her body rest on the warm street, fanning herself with one of IF's unsold newspapers. 

Irish Flare nabbed her newpaper back from Bitter with a snide smile, causing Bitter to growl lowly and stand up to stretch her legs. She watched IF beg the crowd to buy her last paper, but did not see who had taken it as she looked past the crowd and into an alley where she saw two people pulling knives on each other. 

Bitter shoved her way through the resistant stream of the crowd and hollered for IF to follow her, hoping her voice carried over those in the street. She saw the girl fall to the ground, clutching her side and ran quickly across the street and into the hidden alley. She kicked the boy in groin, making him instantly drop the knife in his hand and pushed him off to the side, kneeling down next to the girl. 

"She's from Manhattan," IF whispered, out of breath from running after Bitter.

"Think ya kin carry her back there?" Bitter asked, seeing the girl's blue-green eyes disappear as her body collapsed on her. 

"Looks skinny enough," IF said, eying the brown haired girl. With Bitter's help, the girl was soon safe in IF's arms and just in time, for the short, muscular attacker was regaining some dignity and glaring steadily at the girl who had disabled him for a few moments. 

"I'll take care of him," Bitter said, seeing IF's eyes flicker from her friend to the boy.****

IF nodded as she swayed out of the alleyway, glaring at anyone who gaped at the short girl, standing at only 5'2", winking at Bitter as she shifted out of view. Bitter giggled, but it was short-lived for the boy was on his feet, grabbing at a knife and lunging at her, insanity glinting in his eyes.

She dodged out of the way and shoved him up against the wall, glancing quickly around to see if he had done any damage to her. Satisfied that he hadn't, she easily broke his wrist to make him release the knife and set to work on his face, with no retaliation on his part. 

Bitter kicked him once in the stomach after he fell to the ground, making sure he was unconscious and spat on him, throwing the knife into a nearby gutter as she exited the alley. She cursed as she stopped to gaze into a nearby store window, seeing blood covering one of her sleeves. _Musta knicked me wit dat damn knife_, she thought to herself as she walked back towards the Brooklyn Lodging House. 

She was feeling the full effects of the wound by the time she arrived at the sturdy old building, going straight up the stairs as she entered, no one noticing anything abnormal about her. Bitter grunted as someone addressed her and crept into the girl's bunkroom, grabbing the only other short-sleeved shirt she had and running straight into the bathroom before anyone could get a good look at her. 

Getting out of her shirt was a whole different story trying not to elicit any yelps of pain, slipping it off and glaring at the wound in the mirror. She cleaned it out and wrapped the nearest piece of a clean cloth around it, pulling on her other shirt and soaking the other one in the sink until the bloodstain was out. She threw it over a stall door and laughed as someone hollered at her for it, buttoning up her shirt as she fell out through the door in fits of laughter. 

Bitter made her way down the stairs, calming her laughter before slipping into the main room of the lodging house, finding quite a few of the newsies back from selling. She scampered over to a table filled with people and pulled up a chair next to the only two girls there. A girl with short brown hair and blue-gray eyes was dealing out cards and looked up at Bitter, the light turning her hair a bit red and the freckles splattered across her tan face danced across her face as her lips turned up into a wide grin. "Deal ya in?" she asked. 

"Nah Aki, I'se jist come ta watch ya lose yer money," Bitter replied with a smirk. The girl next to her snorted as Aki turned a shade of red and Bitter playfully ushered her to continue dealing.

The girl seated next to Aki was a short muscular girl of the age of seventeen with light brown hair, her long bangs pushed conveniently behind her ears, her blue green eyes glaring as her never smiling lips curled up at the sight of red forming in Aki's face. "Don't be cruel Miche, it's not like you're any good at pokah either," Aki retorted.

"Get on wit de game, I ain't heah ta watch all of ya jist get red in the cheeks!" Bitter stated. She watched the game proceed intently, focusing on the faces of the players involved in the game. She was too engrossed to even notice someone come up behind her until everyone was staring at her. "What?" she asked, finally noticing that all eyes were on her.

"Uh, Bittah? We gotta talk," a rough voice said from behind her. 

She turned around to meet the blazing hazel eyes of none other than the leader of Brooklyn, Spot Conlon himself. She groaned inwardly and flashed a smirk at the table as she stood up, Aki wishing her luck as the stern look on Spot's face deepened. She stood at about his height and followed him as he silently led her up to his own private 'quarters'. 

Bitter sat down, opening her mouth to explain what she thought he wanted to know, but he spoke before she could get a single word out of her mouth. "She's upped and left," he said.

She stared at him, mouth agape. "Oh that," she let slip out, relieved that he had not yet heard about the fight she had gotten in. 

"What does that mean?" Spot asked, crossing his arms.

Bitter bit her lip and got up. "Shootah can take care of herself, I'm sure she'll be fine," she said, trying not to sound too desperate to leave the room as she reached for the doorknob.

"Do you know where she went?" he asked, moving towards her as she opened the door quietly.

"No, she didn't tell me anything," Bitter said. "If ya need anything else, ya know where to find me," she added as she slipped through the door.

Spot strode after her, grabbing her arm and pulling her back towards him. She let out a hiss of pain as he grasped her arm tightly and looked at the ground, trying to hide the fact that she was hurt. 

Of course, Spot had seen her face swell up in pain and looked over her arm, pulling up her sleeve to reveal a bloodied bandage. "What's this?" he asked, attempting not to reveal the concern in his voice. 

Bitter wrenched her arm away from him. "It's jist a scratch," she said.

"Bittah…" he started, taking a step towards her.

"Shove off!" she hollered, running towards the girls' bunkroom. 

Bitter slammed the door to the bunkroom behind her and found she had the attention of two girls who had been in a deep discussion on their ratty bunkbeds. She opened her mouth to say something, but thought better of it and walked quickly over to her bunk, avoiding the eyes of the two girls.

"Do you think she's alright?" Relic whispered, tossing her light brown hair over her shoulder to get a better look at Bitter. Her clear cyan blue eyes swept over the girl's body as she painfully let herself lay on the bed, obviously hurt. 

"I think she's hoit," Winter chimed in, getting up, the light catching the tiny daggers that were braided into her hair and her green eyes flickering from Relic to Bitter. "Shouldn't we go see if she's alright?" she whispered to Relic, who had not moved from her spot on the bunk.

"I think Spot jist tried de same thing," Relic said, "You know how she gets when she's hoit, never wants anyone fretting, let's just leave her be Wintah, we kin check on her later."

Winter nodded and followed Relic reluctantly out of the room. Bitter let out the deep breath she had been holding and closed her eyes to get some sleep, no one was likely to wake her up, or so she hoped.

She woke up as someone knocked off her cap and her blonde hair flew all over the place. "Leave me alone," she muttered sleepily as she grabbed for her cap. IF was holding it over her head, trying to wake her up. 

"C'mon silly, get up, I'se got news for ya, something ya wanna heah," IF said, laughing as Bitter still could not reach her cap. 

"Aw go away, I'se tired," she muttered, glaring at IF.

"C'mon, it's important," IF said seriously, throwing the cap in Bitter's face, "It's about Shootah."

Bitter opened her eyes at the name of her best friend and groaned getting up. "What about her?" she asked groggily.

"Looks like she's staying in Manhattan," IF said.

"What?" Bitter asked astounded, as if the very idea of anyone she was close to being in Manhattan was absurd.

"Looks like she's right at home too, gots a boyfriend there an' all," IF added, grimacing at the tone of Bitter's voice.

"Yeah I know."

IF laughed, "Well I didn't," she said. She took a closer look at Bitter and frowned. "Bittah, ya look kinda pale," she said after a moment.

"I'se jist tired," Bitter explained simply, "An' you distoibed me rest."

"Oh so sorry," IF said mockingly, getting up to leave. She took another glance at Bitter as she rolled on her side, revealing a growing stain of blood accumulating on the sleeve of her shirt.

"Bittah, did ya get hoit in dat fight?" IF asked, poking the wound so that Bitter elicited a sharp hiss of pain. 

"It's fine," Bitter murmured, pushing IF away.

IF smirked and went around to the other side of the bed, pulling the mattress up and tossing Bitter out of bed. She landed with a thud and growled lowly as IF approached her. "C'mon, let's go fix ya up," IF said, grabbing her under the arms and hoisting her to a standing position. 

"Leave me be," Bitter said, pushing her weakly away, obviously a bit dizzy, which IF so kindly pointed out to her as she dragged her towards the bathroom.

"Maybe if ya let me clean this, I'll tell ya more about what I saw in Manhattan," IF said, sitting Bitter down on a chair as she ran around, getting some cloths, a bandage and some peroxide to clean out the wound. 

Bitter resigned herself in the chair, letting IF peel off her outer shirt and then attempt to take off the dirty bandage that was sticking to Bitter's skin. She let out a groan as IF ripped it off, muttered quite a few curses under her breath as IF told her what had happened in Manhattan. 

"They were awfully frightened to see a girl with a stab wound," IF laughed. "Like it had never occurred before," she added snidely, with a roll of her eyes.

Bitter would have laughed if her arm had not been burning as the peroxide was poured onto her wound, making her eyes tear up. "She'll be fine tho," IF continued, going on about how Jack had almost passed out at the sight of his girl wounded. "Yep, her name was Snicker I think, and I guess she's Jack's newest girl, no one had any idea what the hell she was doing in Brooklyn and with a knife nonetheless," Bitter laughed at that last comment, thankful that IF was almost done cleaning her up.

"But the weirdest thing by far was that when Shootah saw me, she turned pale and ran out of the room before I could even say hi to her," IF said, putting the bandage on tightly and throwing another shirt at Bitter. 

Bitter pulled the shirt on, entranced in her thoughts of why Shooter was acting so weird. She shrugged her thoughts away and smiled at IF. "Thanks," she said. 

IF smirked. "Anytime, an' trust me, I'se gonna be checkin' on dat wound," she said. Bitter shook her head and rolled her eyes, pulling herself up from the chair and feeling a bit light-headed as she headed back to the bunkroom. 

Irish Flare made sure that no one disturbed Bitter as she rested in her bunk, watching the girls pass by from her bunk, staring intently at Bitter's pain-lit face when she was not hollering at the girls to keep the noise down. Most of the girls were gathered around the only table in the room, discussing their day's events as they played a game of poker. "Hey Irish, why don'tcha join us for a game, Bittah ain't likely ta die in her sleep!" a girl named Books called, pushing her long dark brown hair over her shoulder as she stood up from her chair and made her way over to IF. 

Her emerald eyes glowed with compassion as she watched Bitter turn over in her sleep, hissing herself awake as she hit her bad arm and then falling back asleep as she corrected her body. "She'll be fine if ya leave her heah for a second, we'll get ya a seat so you can watch the door ok?" Books said, holding out her hand. 

All of the girls watched, no one had really been close to Bitter except Shooter and now that she had disappeared, IF had seemed to attach herself like Shooter had. Bitter was known for the constant fights she found herself in and her best friend Shooter had always been the one to watch over her, making sure she was ok, no matter how hard Bitter had tried to get her to stop worrying. IF took the hand reluctantly and let the skinny, but taller girl lead her over to the table, where everyone had started to whisper to each other, as if the sudden silence had to be broken in subtly.


	2. aches

A few games proceeded in which IF paid no attention as she looked out across the table, listening to the girls talk about their day. No one had asked her what had actually happened with her and Bitter that day, in fear that they would get snapped at. All in all, they knew it was none of their business and were satisfied with the rumors that had slowly spread around the lodging house. The Brooklyn girls were not known for keeping their mouths shut, but knew when not to ask, nonetheless.

It was in the fourth game of poker that a loud knock sounded at the door and all became silent as a tall girl stood up and opened the door slightly just so she could see who it was. "Oh hi Spot," she greeted with smirk, pushing the one streak of white hair in her long dark brown hair behind her ear as she waited for him to state his business. 

"Hiccups," Spot replied with a solemn nod, trying to look past her and into the room, which was quite impossible seeing as the door was only a crack open. 

"An' what kin I do fer our great leadah dis evenin'?" Hiccups asked, glancing back at the girls to wink one of her big blue eyes at them, making them all elicit a slight chuckle, even IF. 

Spot shoved his foot in the door so Hiccups would not later shut it in his face and lowered his voice, "Wanted ta see how Bittah was doing an' maybe talk ta her if she's up."

"Who's at de door," Bitter's tired voice sounded clearly over the noise of the room, making everyone turn towards her. 

IF was the first to speak, standing up as she did. "Bittah's asleep!" she told Hiccups and hurried over to Bitter's bunk.

"No I'm not!" Bitter protested, still unsure of who was at the door.

Spot raised an eyebrow as Hiccups started to say that Bitter was asleep, having heard her protests. Of course Spot managed his way into the room and IF told her to hush up, telling her who was at the door.

Bitter groaned as she saw Spot appear over IF's shoulder. "Bittah we need ta talk," he said carefully, catching the expression on Irish Flare's face as he moved around her.

"She's in no condition fer one of yer talks!" IF replied for her. 

Bitter let the two holler at each other for a few minutes, watching amusedly as IF got in his face, trying to shove him out of the room and soon finding him to be very immovable. 

Bitter finally decided to interject and stood up, making the two stop instantly and she ushered both of them to follow her out of the room, which they complacently did a moment later. When they found themselves outside the room, the two began to talk vigorously again, neither noticing Bitter's silence until she simply walked to the bathroom without a word.

They finally noticed a minute or two later, both already red in the face and tempers flaring as the two looked around confused.

"She's in de bathroom," Buttercup Tate said from behind them. Her shiny hazel eyes sparkled as the two gaped at her and she just twirled her long dark brown hair around her finger as she patiently waited for them to retreat. It took them a while to catch on, IF stomping off first and Spot following a second later.

They found Bitter sitting on a chair in the bathroom, some bandages, peroxide and rags spread out across one of the sinks. "Well, I hope you two got the yelling out of your systems," she started, proceeding on when they both nodded, "IF will fix me arm up, givin' Spot a chance to see that I'm not dying an' then he can ask some questions of both of us in privacy, seeing as we were both involved in what happened this afternoon."

IF was the first to speak of the two. "Good," she said, glaring at Spot as she turned her attention over to fixing up Bitter's wound. 

Spot did not react well to seeing the wound and just kept on shaking his head over and over. "Don't let yer head roll of, which it's bound to do if ya keep shakin' it like dat," Bitter said with a smirk. 

"Well at least it doesn't need stitches," he said, looking at it closely as IF cleaned it out. 

"Yes, it's fine, now can we get this conversation ovah wit, I'd like to get more sleep so I can actually sell tomorrow," Bitter replied, prompting him to begin.

He just gaped at her, "You're not…" he started.

"She will sell tomorrow," IF interrupted rudely, "I'll look aftah her an' don't argue wit me."

Bitter threw a grateful smile in IF's direction and then turned back to Spot, who had crossed his arms, glaring evenly at IF, who was not in the least paying attention to him. "Well get on wit it," Bitter repeated.

"Airight," Spot said after a few minutes of deciding that he could not argue her out of selling. "What happened exactly?" he asked.

Bitter told the story start to finish, IF adding her little remarks in from time to time. They gave him every last detail, but it did not satisfy Spot.

"So, do you know why the girl was there?" he asked. Both shook their heads and IF piped up, "She was passed out cold the whole time I was in Manhattan an' none of them were revealin' anything."

Spot thought about that for a minute and then asked, "Did you recognize the boy?" 

Bitter had to think about that for a moment or two. "Geez, well, he was a newsie, dat was fer suah, wasn't from Brooklyn an' didn't look like a Manhattan newsie, I'd say maybe he was from the Bronx, I ain't too sure tho, I've seen 'im around once or twice in Brooklyn," she said, trying to think harder.

"What'd he look like?" Spot asked.

"Oh that's easy. He looked like a normal average guy, brown hair, brown eyes, had a scary look to them, like he had killed before, uhm, an inch or two taller than me, oh yeah an he had this scar across his neck, most likely from a knife fight. Other than that he was ordinary as anyone, looked like he could blend in real well," Bitter said, nodding as if to finalize all that she had said. 

Spot seemed content with her answers and furrowed his brow as he thought about all that she had said. "Ouch!" Bitter suddenly cried out, grabbing her arm back from IF. "You tryin' ta cut off my circulation or didya jist wanna see me in pain!" 

IF laughed, "Sorry," she muttered, fixing the bandage so it was not as tight. 

Bitter got up once she was done and turned to Spot. "That it?" she asked.

Spot nodded in response, barely glancing at her before he left the washroom. That was the last Bitter saw of him that night even though his questions swarmed her thoughts all night as she prepared for bed, nodding her head as IF talked her head off. _Why did he ask all those questions, he never seemed to be interested in me fights before? What does all this mean? A Manhattan goil gettin' beat on by a newsie from one of the other territories, who woulda thought? And who was that boy who I left lying there in that alley? Why didn't I ask his name or where he was from?_ The questions flowed through her mind as she pulled the covers over her and tried to sleep, leaving one question wandering around in her mind. _What will his friends do when they find him?_

* * *

Bitter had a fretful night, she didn't get any rest until she had tossed and turned for an hour or two, hitting her arm harshly and passing out, which was most likely the only reason she slept at all. She awoke before the rest of the girls and dragged herself into the bathroom to bath quickly, none of the boys seeming to be up either. She pulled on her black pair of boy's shorts, holding them up as she pulled on her undershirt and then grabbed the first pair of suspenders she spotted. However, before she could get on her now dry, blue short-sleeved ratty dress shirt, Irish Flare interrupted her sleepily to take a look at her wound.

She cleaned it out and then sighed as she looked closely at the wound. "You really shouldn't be selling today," she started, "but as long as Spot doesn't know how bad this wound is…" she trailed off, glaring at her for emphasis and then wrapping the wound tightly. Bitter pulled her over-shirt on just before Spot entered the bathroom rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. She quickly slipped past him, not saying a word.

He grabbed her arm gently and she looked back at him. "You suah yer ok ta sell?" he asked.

Bitter nodded and twisted her arm out of his grasp. She scurried through the lodging house, not wanting to encounter her leader again, in fear that he would take a look at the wound and tell her she couldn't sell. 

The day was definitely not a pleasant one for the young hurt girl. Just when Bitter least expected it, she was forced into an alley easily as the arm that was grabbed was her hurt one. The dark haired boy smiled as he saw the trace of blood covering her sleeve. "So Camelion got you good," the boy snarled. 

"Meddlin' in our business in the first place and you with only a scratch, him half conscious in a bed," the other added in, "Isn't dat right Prowler?" the darker haired boy loosened his grip slightly as he opened his mouth to add in a snide comment, the only thing coming from his mouth next was a yelp as she kneed him hard in the stomach and hit him wickedly across the head, causing his vision to go in and out, falling to the ground barely conscious.

"Get her Horror!" the boy called weakly as Bitter dashed off towards the end of the alley, not in the mood for such trouble.

It wasn't that she couldn't handle a fight even in her condition, but she knew if she came home with another wound she'd be bedridden by Spot's orders. The scar-faced boy grabbed her, his face horribly lit up in pleasure as her own face lit up in pain as he dug his fingers into her now open wound. He pushed her hard up against the wall, but she landed a swift uppercut to his chin, knocking him a few steps backward as a sickening crack occurred, his jaw breaking. She ran out of there before either could recover, the wound on her arm pounding something horrible and she could barely pick up the newspapers she had dropped near the entrance of the alley.

Bitter didn't even think twice before heading straight back to the lodging house, in no mood to see any goons of theirs any time soon. She resigned herself on a chair and fell asleep there, or rather (although she'll never admit it) passed out. 

"Leave me be," was the mumbled response Spot received as he nudged her awake. He caught the sight of her sleeve and shook her so she was fully conscious. "What!?!" she growled, her tone softening a little as she saw Spot and his expression. "Oh, it's you," she said, turning her face up into a small grin.

He pulled a short skinny girl aside. "Books, go find IF, tell her Bittah needs some assistance with her wound," he said quietly so Bitter couldn't hear.

Books nodded and ran off without questioning him. Bitter looked confused and then shifted her body, letting out a small hiss of pain as she moved her arm too harshly, turning pale. She looked down and saw the wound bleeding; her sleeve covered in blood. "Damn," she muttered quietly.

Spot watched her concerned, "Anything you'd like to tell me?" he questioned plainly.

"I got in a fight?" she said nervously, "but I ain't hurt 'cept dis."

Spot shook his head. "How many an' did ya catch dere names?" he asked.

"Two, uhm dey were newsies, had nicknames like all newsies do, Prowler and Horror," she said, nodding as she said there names.

Spot looked thoughtful for a minute and was interrupted by IF storming down the stairs. "What did you go an' do!?!" she exclaimed, seeing her arm.

"Jist a lil' brawl," Bitter said, standing up and following her into the bathroom.

"Well, it's a good thing you didn't get more hurt, I'm surprised you're still on your feet aftah losing all that blood!" 

Bitter ignored her rambling and let her wrap her wound and then followed IF to the girls' bunkroom to take a long nap. Before she lay down, she yawned as she said, "See dat someone sells me papes downstairs."

IF laughed. "Now dat, Bittah, is pure dedication," she said, grinning as she exited the room, satisfied with Bitter's short chuckle.

"You'se bleeding all ovah yer sheets," was the first thing Bitter heard when she was rudely awakened. Winter's green eyes were staring down upon her, a motherly look to her face. Bitter groaned automatically, seeing the wet sheets below her.

"Damnit," she muttered, sitting up groggily and grabbing the sheets up into her arms.

Winter snatched the sheets from her arms. "You don't look like you'd last walking to far," she judged from her pale appearance, "Cali, help Bittah to de bathroom," she called out. A girl standing about 5'4" rushed over, her dark brown hair bobbing up and down in its ponytail and her ever-changing blue eyes turned a bit gray as she peered out at the hurt girl beneath her thin-rimmed glasses.

Winter led the way, tripping over the sheets every once in a while, Cali following with her arm tightly wrapped around Bitter's waist just in case she passed out.

"This is unnecessary," Bitter pointed out, a foul expression on her face, which only heightened the ghastly paleness to her face.

"No. It's not," Winter stated, pushing the door open to the bathroom and walking in. When Bitter was seated on a chair, she continued to explain herself. "Irish is out with a boy from Manhattan an' she left us in charge of you," she said, emphasizing the last word as she threw the bloody blankets into the wash bin.

"A boy?" Bitter raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, some guy named Snitch, said she was going to try and get some information outta him, but me an' Cali think she's sweet on 'im," Winter said as she started washing the sheets. 

Cali nodded as she grabbed a medical kit and put some bandages and cloths on the sink. "Definitely sweet on de kid," she added, pouring peroxide on a cloth and then peeling off Bitter's shirt and bandage. Her chest rose with a gasp, but she kept it in, averting her eyes to the floor for a moment and then peering closely at the wound.

"It ain't dat bad," Bitter muttered out loud, rolling her eyes. She would have said more if Winter hadn't gotten up and came over to look at the wound and gave Bitter a knowing look.

"Hmmm, yeah, not _dat _bad!" Winter stated sarcastically. "Only infected and pusy and bloody as all hell."

Bitter winced as Cali pushed the peroxide covered cloth onto her wound. Winter pushed Cali aside. "Go wash the sheets," she said, seeing the girl a bit pale.

Cali frowned slightly, but let Winter take over cleaning Bitter up as she sat down to scrub at the bloodied, wet sheets.

"Grab my hand and squeeze, dis is gonna hoit like a bitch," Winter smiled, grabbing the small bottle of peroxide and letting Bitter grab one hand while the other poured peroxide directly into the wound.

"Mother fuckin…" Bitter yelled, stopping mid-sentence as her arm burned, making her eyes tear up as the pain was almost unbearable and her grip on Winter's hand almost cut off the blood to her arm, Bitter's knuckles turning white instantly.

Winter peeled her hand away from Bitter's once she was done. "Fuck," Bitter growled loudly, pulling her arm away from Winter. "Dat is de last time I let you do dat," she moaned as Winter grabbed her arm back again.

"Dat's what ya get when ya fight too much," Winter retorted, gripping her arm tightly so Bitter couldn't get it free again. She was finally able to bandage the wound and shook her head back and forth.

"It'll be fine, I just need some sleep," Bitter said, glaring as she stood from the chair, changing her shirt quickly.

"Yeah. Dat an' a day offa sellin'," Winter retorted. She made a mental note to have a talk with Spot later on that day.

"Don't get any ideas," Bitter glared as she stomped out of the room and almost fainted once she entered the room, instantly losing consciousness once she hit the bed, but not before she elicited a curse from pain.

* * *


	3. some good loving an' conspiracy

Irish Flare sat on the couch, playing with her hands as she waited for Jack to fetch Snitch from upstairs. Although their meeting for a date of some sort had been planned for a few weeks, she was still a nervous wreck. She held her breath as she heard noise on the stairs and a tall lanky boy appeared, his aqua eyes lighting up as he saw her. He brushed his dark brown tresses away from his face nervously as he approached her.

She stood up quickly, feeling quite short when she stood next to his towering build of 6'0". Snitch smiled at her, baring his buck teeth for a moment. "Shall we?" he asked, offering her an arm.

IF nodded quickly, taking his arm and letting him lead her out of the lodging house, both too entranced in each other to notice the hoots and hollers coming from the scattered Manhattan newsies. "How was your day?" she asked once they were in the street.

"Airight, got all me papes sold, was anticipating a visit from ya. Jack wanted me to tell you thanks fer bringin' his girl home, he was too proud ta do it 'imself, feels responsible or sumthin," Snitch said, his words jumbled together nervously as he spoke.

"Well, it's a good thing Bittah saw her," IF said. "Did you guys evah figure out what ezactly happened?" she asked.

Snitch shook his head. "She hasn't spoken much when she's awake an' only Jack goes to visit her, he hasn't said anything tho, no one asks eiddah."

IF frowned. "You'll let me know when ya find out tho?" she asked.

He nodded. "A 'coise," he said. "Well dis is de place," he said, stopping in front of a run-down looking building with few advertisements. A single dirty sign was up in the front. _Vincent's Café._

Snitch pulled her anxiously inside. They had to seat themselves, but otherwise it was quite a trendy place, the inside of the restaurant looking more fancy than the outside and was very deceiving if a couple had never been to the joint. 

The food served to be delicious, the couple uneasily eating as they tried not to stare at one another while they ate. Snitch was the first to be done and sat smiling at Irish Flare, making her eat more carefully, not wanting to do anything wrong to turn him off from her. "Good?" he asked when she slurped the last of her food up into her mouth.

She nodded, putting a hand nervously over her mouth while she chewed the last of her meal up. Snitch chuckled and put his hand on hers once she was done. 

To both of their surprise, she didn't pull her hand back and instead smiled at him and leaned over the table with a confident smile. Their lips met for a few fleeting moments, the ecstasy of the kiss entrancing them both so that those few seconds seemed like minutes of spiritual entwinement. 

IF pulled back flustered, tucking her black hair behind her ear nervously as her cyan eyes darted around to see if anyone had noticed, but she had no one's attention but Snitch's. The pleased look of astonishment lay on his face as he soaked in what they had just shared. 

* * *

"Spot, she can't sell tomorrow," Winter said, crossing her arms.

He sighed. "She's lost a lot of blood you say?"

Winter nodded. "Bittah ain't gonna like you telling her dat," a voice interjected from the doorway of Spot's room. An Irish-looking girl scowled at their surprised expressions. "Like you didn't know one of us would eavesdrop if ya left da door open," she added, both now glaring at her.

Spot shook his head and sat down. "She has a point about Bittah though," he admitted.

Winter smirked, a plan forming in her head. "Why don't we just let her sleep in an' one of us could stay behind an' make sure she stays dat way?" 

Maverick chuckled. "I dunno if any a' de goils are gonna agree to dealin' wit 'er, she's mighty stubborn."

"Well den one a' de guys kin do it," she said, averting her eyes towards Spot to seek his approval. 

"I'll jist stay wit 'er, de last thing I need is 'er givin' one of me boys a blind eye fer a week," Spot said with a shrug.

Winter frowned at his comment, many of the boys had seemed less playful the past few days and what he had just said made her wonder if something was going on that he was holding back from the girls. If any of the girls had known, Winter would have been the first to find out. "An' what does dat mean?" Maverick retorted, thinking the same thing as Winter.

He didn't answer her and instead turned to Winter. "How late is IF gonna be out 'til?" 

Winter shrugged. "I dunno, it's gettin' late, she may just hafta bunk dere, she knows de rules about being out on the streets past midnight, nobody breaks that rule except…"

"Bittah," he ended for her, smirking.

"I don't see why you keep letting her get away wit it," Maverick pouted, shifting her position from the doorway to a step back into the hallway, making like she was going to leave.

"Dere's no stopping 'er," he commented. The only response he received from Maverick was a slight smirk to her expression and a quick nod of the head as she left.

Winter just smirked, knowing exactly what Maverick was thinking and headed to the door with a yawn. "Well g'night an' g'luck wit Bittah tomorrow."

He nodded in response, shutting the door once she left. He knew what the two were hinting at and he chose to ignore it outwardly, but internally he was thinking about Bitter. He couldn't deny the feelings he had for her, but he wasn't going to risk anything. _Not yet anyways,_ he thought to himself as he climbed into bed.

* * *


	4. some more love and a bit of grumpiness

"Did I do something wrong?" Snitch asked, looking away quickly, a bit embarrased.

"No, nothing wrong..." Irish Flare started off thoughtfully. "I jist..." she paused, leaving Snitch to grow even redder in the face. Her voice lowered suddenly. "That wasn't supposed to happen..." she said, her voice barely above a whisper now. 

Knowing she had said the wrong words, she put a finger to Snitch's lips when he opened his mouth to speak. He gave her quite a confused look as she edged closer, looking as though she needed to whisper something in his ear. But what she did was not with her lips, but with her heart. The look in her eyes was completely obvious to Snitch. She loved him. 

~ ~ ~

Playful night set upon the city and left two lovebirds out in the darkness, speaking simple, obvious words that could not have seemed more complex. Love trailed them deep into the night and left them with no conception of time. The only reality that sounded was that of the horrors of the night, somehow deaf to the ears of the couple.   
But playful as the night was, it had to sound it's reason with the unreasonable pair. Loud noises disturbed the air and the pair became uneasy and more thoughtful as to how dark it had become. 

"Let's go back now," came a boy's voice.

The girl nodded and the two stood together, not daring to part completely, their sides bumping against each other as they walked. They reached the old, weathered lodging house and snuck in. "I'll wake you before anyone else knows your heah," Snitch promised and left her to a bunk beneath him, both afraid of what would happen if they spent the night in each other's arms. 

"G'night." The last words of the evening.

~ ~ ~

Silence brought a half conscious girl to sit up uneasily, nausea and dizziness unable to help the state of confusion she had just entered. The room was filled with light and an overabundance of heat from the midday sun. Stepping to her feet, she found her way to the door blindly, her eyes only half open. 

"Mornin' Bittah," Spot's rough voice greeted her as she bumped into him and the chair he happened to have shoved against the door to the hallway. 

"Spot, where de hell is everyone..." Bittah scowled sleepily, resting her body against the wall, or rather steadying it there.

"Well I thought you desoived a day off in yer condition, so I made sure all de goils were real quiet dis mornin' so you could sleep off some a' your injury," Spot stood and held a hand out to Bitter for support.

With a growl, Bitter hit his hand away and attempted to stand on her own two feet, tipping a little. "Now ya listen heah, I know what you'se up to, I gots ta sell me papes today Spot... and you can't stop me..." Bitter scowled, walking towards the door with drunken steps. 

"Ah ah ah, you ain't going anywhere 'cept to your bunk Miss Bittah." Spot couldn't help but smirk as he easily took a hold of her waist and escorted her back to the comfort of her bunk. Resistance from her was hardly a problem, her kicks and punches weak and barely effecting the hold he had around her. Once he finished helping her lay down (or rather forcing her to), he sat on the edge of her bed. "You'se gonna stay right dere an' I'se gonna go down and get de breakfast I had one a' de goils bring, airight?"

"Fine," Bitter muttered, barely wanting to move at that point nonetheless try to escape from Spot. 

"If you move from dat bunk besides to go to the bathroom, I'll hafta find means of making you stay dere, got it?" Spot said, smirking a little. No matter how serious this situation could be, he couldn't help but smile when Bitter was acting this grumpy.

"Yeah yeah, I heah ya..." Bitter scowled and turned on her good side. "An' wipe dat smile off yer face, I could get outta heah with or without ya guardin' me like a hawk." 

"Right Bittah..." That only made Spot smile even more and he hurriedly left the bunkroom to bring her up some fruit and bread for breakfast. Suprisingly enough she was still in the exact same position when he came back and her eyes were a bit red for some reason.

"Bittah your eyes look kinda puffy..." Spot started as he cut up an apple with his pocket knife.

"Just got some dust in me eye or something..." Bitter muttered, turning a little and seeming a bit more awake now. "Hey Spot, ya think ya could help me ta da bathroom.. I'm feeling a bit dizzy, don't wanna uh fall an' hit my head or something..." her eyes gleamed a little with the tears she had just let go while Spot was gone and she was pale as a ghost.

"Sure Bittah," he smiled and put the food down, helping her to her feet and then wrapping an arm tightly around her waist just in case she fainted on him. "So why were ya crying?" he asked in a caring voice as they made their way out of the room.

"I was not crying," Bitter scowled a little, "so shut ur mouth." 

"Alright Bittah, just remember I'se got two ears an' they're open for listening anytime you wanna talk..." Spot said, opening the door to the bathroom. 

Bitter propped herself by the door and looked at him funny. "Why you being nice ta me all a' de sudden Spot?" 

That question made Spot smile shyly. "Well I'se happen ta care about you Bittah, even if you do seem to cause a lot a' trouble around heah..." 

Beaming proudly, Bitter winked at him. "Just don't go soft on me Spot, now get outta heah so I can pee!"

Chuckling, Spot exited the bathroom and shut the door. "Call me when you'se done and decent!"

"Yeah yeah, no peeking."


	5. Complications

Rather than causing more problems with her wound, Bitter resigned to letting Spot support her on the way back to the girl's bunkroom, carefully warning him that if either of his hands wandered she make sure to put a knife through it (when she had more strength of course). Behaving himself, Spot helped her onto the bed, knowing very well that Bitter wasn't kidding. Pulling up a chair, he watched her drift in and out of consciousness until the first footsteps were heard on the stairs.

Turning his head slightly he saw a disheveled Irish Flare come through the door, her hair a mess of black tangles, shirt and pants ripped as if she had fallen down a hill, slight traces of blood covering her. "I'm ok Spot," she interrupted the opening of his mouth.

"What happened?" came a weak voice from the bed, blonde hair spilling sleepily onto the bed as Bitter lowered herself back down to a laying position.

"Give me a minute to breathe and I'll explain it all…" Irish Flare took Spot's seat which he so happily gave up to the injured girl.

_Dawn had come too early and Irish slipped out just in enough time, not wanting to be discovered. A quick kiss to her handsome boyfriend and out she went sneaking through the hallways and out through the back of the lodging house. A curious figure was striding not more than 20 yards in front of her, the morning sun revealing the lean, tall girl in front of her, her long pale blonde hair held in a ponytail. _

_Almost certain who it was, Irish strode after her, quick to catch up. Just as she was about to grab Shooter by the shoulder, the girl dashed around the corner. The darkened alleyway enveloped Irish's sight and she had not a clue where she was and where Shooter had gone. Whispers filled her ears and she stepped quietly, hands held in front of her cautiously. The cold wood of an ancient door hit her fingertips gently and she felt downward for a knob. _

_Twisting gently, the open door flooded the alley with light and just as quickly opened was it shut. Irish's eyes did not recover soon enough to know she was not in good company until all eyes were turned upon her. Unable to take in all the details of the ancient warehouse, Irish found muscular young men surrounding her slowly and she inched back towards the door. _

"_I must've opened the wrong door.. sorry if I interrupted anything…" Irish spoke nervously feeling backwards for the silver doorknob to her freedom. _

_Just as she flung it open one of the boys jumped at her crashing through the door with her. Irish lay sprawled on the ground kicking at the boy as he clung to her foot. A swift kick in the nose freed her and she kept running, unlucky enough to trip and fall every few yards, the one boy aiming straight for her legs each time. _

_Breathing heavily she reached a safe haven, the Manhattan lodging house. Spinning she found the boy had disappeared without a trace. Limping slightly she made her way back to Brooklyn. _

"You wouldn't happen to know what Shooter would be doing in a place like that, would ya Bittah?" Irish asked, exasperated from retelling the story.

Bitter had turned a shade paler during the story, but shook her head, reluctant to reveal any of the thoughts that floated in her mind. "No.. not a clue," Bitter stated, unconvincingly. In the state she was in, there was no want from either Spot or Irish Flare to force the truth out of her and they let her slink back into a deepened, sickly sleep.


	6. Truth

Healing took less time than anyone expected. Bitter's arm was forming a nice scab and her resistance to staying in bed grew stronger. To Bitter's dismay, neither Spot or Irish Flare had forgotten that she was holding something back from them when it came to Shooter.

"For the last time I don't know anything that you already know, so leave me the fuck alone!" Bitter screamed at the great leader of Brooklyn slamming the door in his face and running a bath.

"At least this bed rest thing has helped me clear my head," Bitter spoke to herself out loud, ignoring Spot's voice yelling at her through the door to stop her stubbornness and tell him what he wanted to know. She sighed again as she slowly removed her clothes, careful not to open her healing wound and lowered herself into the warm water of the porcelain tub.

Pulling her head under water, she found it helped shut out the noise Spot was making outside of the bathroom, but she couldn't get rid of the information he was after, no matter how hard she tried.

"_Bittah…listen to me will ya?" Shooter's eyes were full of hurt as she spoke._

"_And why should I? You've been lying to me Shootah… I trusted you… You promised you'd never do anything like that again… but what you did today, that's the last straw. It's me or them Shootah, you can't mix your old and you new lives… you know that," Bitter couldn't bare to look at her, to look at the person she had trusted all her secrets to, the one person she thought would never betray her. _

"_Bittah…" Shooter begged for her forgiveness, for her help, for any reaction but the one her friend had next._

"_Don't use your tricks on me, I'm not as stupid as I used to be, I see right through you…" with that said, Bitter took one last look at her supposed best friend. Without hesitation, Bitter turned and walked away, out of the dark alley, past blood-stained walls, and forever leaving the friend she had once known._

Emerging from the hot water with a gasp, Bitter steadied her racing heart with deep breathing. She knew what she had to do. She knew she couldn't keep this a secret any longer. Shooter had taken it too far and it was due time that Bitter stopped defending her, hiding her secrets. It was time someone else knew.

Sitting on Spot's bed, Bitter found her courage suddenly disappearing. Closing her eyes, she tried to find the exact words she was missing. A warm hand covered hers suddenly and she found the bright blue eyes of the Brooklyn boy staring into hers. Blushing a little, she let his hand stay where it was, her voice finding its way out of her.

"Shooter has a past… I mean we all do… but she was in a gang… one of the more brutal gangs… She did jobs… and well they resurfaced… they had gone under for a few years, but now they're reforming…" Bitter breathed in deeply, trying to formulate the best way to tell Spot.

"A few weeks ago, Shooter started disappearing… sometimes a few days at a time. I knew something was up, so I decided to follow her one night." Images from that night overcame her causing a shiver to climb up her spine.

"To say the least… I found out what I didn't want to believe… she had rejoined the gang… knowing I would never have approved of it, she wasn't going to tell me. That's the night she disappeared…"

Spot held Bitter close to him as she sat looking hollowly at the wall in front of her. He wished to play with her hair, to run his fingers along her neckline, to comfort her with kisses… but he wouldn't dare. Holding her was enough for him. "So what's in Manhattan?" Spot asked gently.

Bitter finally turned to him, her eyes a clouded green glaring into his uninvitingly. "I don't know…" she stood as she spoke. Spontaneously she leaned down and kissed his forehead. "Don't worry about me, I'm going to be just fine…". With a brief smile, Bitter exited and resigned to her bunk for the night, unwilling to talk to anyone until morning.


	7. Funness

Irish Flare's appearance had improved quite quickly, but her slight limp whished to bother her longer. Having spied on Spot and Bitter's conversation, she had barely been able to disappear into the bathroom before Bitter passed through the door of Spot's room.

Peaking through a crack in the door, Irish slowly opened the door only to encounter the lean body of Relic towering two inches above her. Irish was pushed a foot back with a surprised "umph" and a look of humor passed over Relic's clear cyan blue eyes. "Someone's alert today!" Relic laughed at Irish's surprise.

"Don't worry, I wont tell Spot you were spying," Relic smirked as she pushed past a flushed Irish Flare into the bathroom.

"I ain't the only one I bet," Irish retorted, looking at Relic knowingly before limping out of the bathroom and up to the girls' bunkroom.

Denying Books' offer for a poker game, she headed over to Bitter's bunk. Bitter's face was buried in the limp old pillows on her bed, leaving her short blonde hair in a mess behind her. Her gray newsies' cap had fallen onto her back and move in rhythm with her unsteady breathing.

Rather than disrupt Bitter's silent sobbing, Irish limped to her bunk, pulling herself up to the top bunk and searching desperately for her hidden flask of whiskey. Finding it, she took a gulp of her medicine. Irish Flare laughed at the thought of the intoxicating liquid being any form of medicine. Even whiskey couldn't relieve the curiosity that had over come her in the past few days. It was hard to bear with the answer to all her question being only a few bunks away.

Of course she knew that if you wanted to get any information out of Bitter, you'd have to time it perfectly. She was almost predictable once you got to really know her, not that she ever let anyone get that close.

Just looking into her green eyes revealed her thoughts. Irish was getting close to Bitter, closer than Shooter had ever seemed. It was easy to hate Bitter until you really understood her. Irish could see why Spot was so drawn to her. The two were sometimes almost the same. There was a certain understanding between the two because of it. So alike they were that Irish felt they'd never end up together because of their ways of working around emotions. _Unless someone pushed them… _Irish smiled devilishly to herself on that thought. "Maybe when things have calmed down a bit, " Irish said out loud in a sleepy voice, slowly drifting into a sweet slumber that would last her until morning.

Morning came and went rather quickly. No one noticed a certain Brooklyn leader missing until nearly nightfall. A normal selling day it had been for both Irish Flare and Bitter. Things felt like they were finally getting back to normal. Irish Flare made Bitter feel like she had a good friend again, like Shooter had never even been a part of her life.

Bitter's head was clear of all thoughts of gangs, Shooter, and Manhattan: Until they reached the lodging house at least. Spot's right hand man, Captain, had taken over for the day. The only information he would give about Spot's whereabouts was "He's out for the night."

Bitter took advantage of her good looks, dragging the lean but muscular boy into the kitchen after little resistance. Fondly running her hands through his red, curly tresses, she nibbled on his right earlobe, pushing him gently against the counter. Whispering gently in his ear, she tugged at the buttons on his pants.

"Spot's in Manhattan, isn't he?" Her sultry voice elicited an exasperated "yes" from the hormonal young man. Pulling her hands away, she kissed him roughly and then stepped back. "Thanks for the information," Bitter winked, leaving the stunned boy alone in the kitchen, his face turning a deeper shade of red by the second.

Not waiting for an explosion from the kitchen, Bitter grabbed Irish by the hand, dragging her out of the lodging house. She ignored the smaller girl's protests until they were a good few blocks away.

Giggling uncontrollably, Bitter couldn't seem to get anything sensible out of her mouth. The sight of a steaming mad Irish Flare only made the whole situation funnier to Bitter.

Catching a breath, Bitter finally got out "Spot… in … Manhattan… must… go… there…"

Irish rolled her eyes, gaining her composure and expressing that she didn't want to know. With that, they were off to Manhattan!


	8. Manhattan

Whispers of gossip had filled the morning air of the Manhattan Lodging House. Something important or dangerous must have happened, because there could be no other explanation for the great Spot Conlon to pay a visit to Manhattan. Appearing only for a few minutes, he had disappeared, having been pointed in the direction of Jack Kelly's location.

The shadow of a thin blonde girl tracked Spot as he reached one of Jack Kelly's selling spots, luckily catching him as he sold his last paper. Surprised to the see the disgruntled Brooklyn newsboy, Jack's mouth dropped a little before eliciting a question. "What are you doing in Manhattan Spot?"

The light brown eyebrows of the Brooklyn boy raised into a knowing look. "I need to talk to you… but not here…follow me…" Spot lead him into the nearest deserted alley and crossed his arms, waiting for Jack's explanation.

"You probably want to know what's going on, dontcha?" Jack sighed, running his hand through his brown tresses. "We'll we're harboring someone Spot, someone who's past is after them…"

"And that gang is after this person right?" Spot said, already knowing the answer. With a nod from Jack, Spot spoke again. "Well you ain't doing a very good job of hiding her, are ya?"

Jack scowled slightly. "You think you know who's been seeping out information, dontcha?"

Spot nodded. "Yeah, I think I do. I ain't a hundred percent certain, but I got a feeling that I'm right, whether I want to be or not."

A soft scuffle was heard at the entrance to the alley, Spot's alert ears barely picking it up. Quickly he ran to the entrance. Around the corner the crowd on the sidewalk had been separated, but the girl was far enough away that all Spot saw was the low blonde ponytail bouncing behind her disappearing body.

Jack had followed after, not sure what had happened.

Spot's face lit up in anger, hitting the brick wall beside him, glaring at the ground before looking back up at Jack. "Well we'll know for sure who it is if someone's missing tonight… and that someone being a girl."

Manhattan," Bitter spoke the borough's name with disgust. "I haven't been here in months… and I really don't miss it."

Irish Flare laughed at her friend's dislike for Manhattan and dragged her towards the lodging house.

"Don't you think I'm gonna be nice to Jack Kelly either… that rat bastard," Bitter sputtered, the sudden thought of her ex-boyfriend making her insides boil in anger.

"Oh just get over him, he's a bastard! Just ignore him while were here, ok Bitts?"

Bitter sighed, reluctant to compromise something she knew she couldn't control – her anger. "I'll try," Bitter muttered under her breath, following Irish into the musty old lodging house.

Chatter filled their ears as they entered, the smell of cigars, cigarettes, and dust filling their noses. The large gathering room held a dozen or so Manhattan newsies, the mid-afternoon leaving them with an evening after selling to spare.

All eyes were on them as they entered, but the glaring faces of the two girls instantly made them return to what they were doing. While Bitter tried to hunt down information on Spot's whereabouts, Irish took in all that was happening around her. Spring seemed to have a blooming affect on the newsies. All around her, newsgirls and boys were coupling up.

Seated on an old, gray couch was an older newsgirl, maybe the age of seventeen. Her blue eyes were racing across the lines of an old, battered book, the title in worn black letter. _A Tale of Two Cities_. Her medium built body was leaning against a love-struck David. His hands were content weaving through her dark brown hair, and every once in a while he would lean down and kiss her cheek.

She shifted, her long brown skirt hitting the ground as she stood. "Where are you going Flit?" David pouted.

"Bathroom silly, but don't worry… I'll miss you while I'm gone." Flit leaned down and kissed him before she left.

Leaning against Kloppman's desk were a deep red-haired girl and a blonde newsboy. Dutchy had taken to playing with a streak of blonde in her red hair. Her face was flushed and her voice soft as she spoke. Dutchy was trying to achieve getting her grey eyes to meet his own. Telling a joke, the girl softly giggled and watched as he adjusted his glasses slightly.

"That's Corduroy," a friendly voice spoke up next to Irish.

Irish Flare smiled at the girl who had suddenly appeared next to her. The girl stood a good four inches above Irish (Irish being only 5'2") and her dark chestnut hair was down, falling past her shoulder blades. Her usual flannel shirt was tied around her waist and her dark blue newsies' cap was falling a bit to the side, revealing her shining slate blue eyes.

"Nice to see you Illusion."

"Same to you," Illusion spoke, turning to face her. "Not here to see Snitch are you?"

"So observant aren't you?" Irish smiled and, remembering who had dragged her all the way to Manhattan, she scanned the room for the feisty blonde teenager who had easily become her best friend in the past week.

"She's ransacking the bunk room looking for Spot, or something close at least…" Illusion smirked, pointing Irish in Bitter's direction.

Bitter was frustrated, to say the least. "Damn boy…" Bitter muttered under her breath, resigning herself to the nearest bunk. The room was empty so she thought no one would disturb her, but she was wrong.

A few moments after lying down, a face appeared above her. Piercing blue eyes glared at her and the girl's brown hair had fallen over the dark features of her face. "Who are you?" The two girls asked at the same time.

As quickly as her face had appeared, it disappeared. A few seconds passed and the tall lanky body of the girl was lowered to the ground, finding Bitter face to face with a very tough looking gypsy. Smirking back at Bitter, she stuck out her hand spitting in it. "I'm Gip."

Following suit, Bitter stuck out her own spit-covered hand and offered a cocky reply of, "Bittah."

"I'se hoid of ya," Gip stated as she sat down on the bunk opposite Bitter.

"You don't seem like you belong in Manhattan…" Bitter complimented the girl.

"And neither do you, and yet we're both here…" Before Bitter could say anything more… Shooter tore through the door.

Without noticing Bitter, Shooter ran to the bunk closest to the window. Scrounging beneath it, she gathered the few items that remained there. Shocked, Bitter couldn't seem to get a word out of her mouth.

Gip was the one to finally break the silence. "Hey Shootah, where de fuck are ya going? You're actin like yer pants are on fire."

The sudden noise made Shooter jump, dropping everything she had been holding in her hands. Bitter stood suddenly, and for a split second their eyes met. Shooter's eyes grew wide and she shot out the window and hurried down the fire escape.

There was no trace of her by the time Bitter found her feet and got to the window. "Fuck!" Bitter growled, punching the wall nearest to her.

Gip gave her a funny look. "What?"

Calming her self, Bitter spoke slowly, almost cautiously. "I don't know what, but something very wrong is going to happen… and it's going to happen very soon…" A look of worry mixed with the dangerous green of Bitter's eyes and carefully traced the path down the fire escape and where Shooter had last been.


	9. Love is in the air

Spot and Jack walked silently back to the lodging house, their strides fast and long, neither one of them wanting to think of a traitor in the group of newsies. The lodging house came upon them faster then either had expected, and they looked at each other, both hesitating to open the door.

They didn't have to wait long, for the door swung open and a short Italian girl walked through, laughing as Race made a joke behind her. Her light brown eyes lost their laughter as she spotted the two very serious looking newsboys. Nervously stringing a hand through long wavy dark brown hair, she put a hand on her curvy hip.

Race interrupted the sudden silence. "'ey Spot, a pretty little number with blonde hair was lookin' for you, I think she's still around," Race smirked, knowing exactly who Bitter was, but he couldn't help but taunt the tough Brooklyn newsboy.

The girl next to him gave him a nice hard punch in the arm. Race's face instantly turned apologetic. "Oh c'mon Kit, you know you'se the only broad for me…"

Kit rolled her eyes and started to walk away, her black boots clicking on the sidewalk. "Last one to de races is a scab!" she hollered behind her, taking off.

Race scowled. "Women." He rolled his eyes before taking off after her.

Once they had passed, the two boys dredged through the open door and into the smoky room. "You better go find Bittah," Jack said with a smirk.

Spot raised his eyebrows slightly, watching Jack walk over to a group of newsies sitting around a table playing a game of poker. Jack slung his arm around his girl Snicker. Next to Snicker was Pie Eater and he had his own arm around a slim older girl named Jittery. Her long wavy light brown hair seemed to keep getting in her face, for Pie seemed accustom to placing it behind her ears, revealing two pools of big brown eyes. Her silver locket gleamed in the light and reminded Spot of Bitter's silver cross.

Turning his thoughts back to Bitter, he began his search. It was hard to miss the noisy bunkroom claimed by the girls. The girls seemed a bit rowdy tonight and Spot soon found the source of it. Irish and Bitter had taken to a drinking contest in the corner of the bunkroom. Whiskey was their choice of liquor tonight and there were glasses lined up one after another.

The loudest one cheering them on was a short Italian girl, around the age of sixteen. Her black hair reached to her mid-back and her dark brown eyes glowed with amusement. There were at least three guys that had her attention rather then the drinking contest and she made sure to wink and smile at them every once in a while, her full lips every few minutes whispering to one of the boys, something obviously erotic from how they reacted. Half-Pint was her name, and she was the well-known flirt of the Manhattan lodging house.

Spot gazed at her exposed legs up to the black skirt she was wearing. Shaking certain thoughts out of his head, he returned his attention to Bitter and Irish who were getting drunker by the moment. Pushing his way through the small crowd he stood over Bitter who was currently seated on the floor opposite of her opponent.

"I heard you were looking for me, Bittah," Spot smiled as she gave him a slightly drunken glare.

"Yeah, well seeing as you're de goddamn reason I'm bloody well heah… thanks to some information I elicited from Captain… yes of course I was lookin for you Spot…" Bitter slurred drunkenly.

Spot was not one to impose on their fun, so he said nothing about her current state and told her, with an amused look on his face, "Find me when you're done heah…"

Bitter started to stand and barely achieved it without Spot grabbing a hold of her as she was about to fall. "We'll finish dis latah Irish," Bitter nodded at her friend, who was quite a bit more sober then Bitter, used to her treasured whiskey. Irish nodded and stood as well. The crowd broke up, seeing that their entertainment was spoiled. Irish went off to find her beloved Snitch, knowing he was around somewhere.

Bitter walked, with Spot's help, to the nearest empty room and was seated on a bunk by Spot. "You're a mess Bitter," Spot chuckled.

"Nah, I'se fine," Bitter stated, trying to talk normally. "Oh I saw Shootah by de way.. and she ain't gonna be stayin heah anymore it seems like… she gathered all her t'ings and shot out of heah…" Bitter yawned sleepily.

"Damn liquor.. always makes me sweepy!" Bitter elicited quite loudly, slurring and curling up, resting her head on Spot's lap as he sat down next to her.

Spot tried talking to her, but she passed out a few moments later. He didn't move in case of waking her up from her drunken slumber, and he knew what Bitter was like when she was grumpy, so he didn't risk it. He lay back on the bed and closed his own eyes, letting his mind go through the events of the day, the puzzles that needed to be solved, and the beautiful girl that was now snoring softly on his lap.

Upon finding her sweetheart, Irish had dragged him outside and to the fire escape, making him climb up it to the roof, all the while not answering his protests and questions as to where they were going and why.

Irish let her hands and mouth explain why they were on the roof. Her lips found his mouth as they lay next to each other, the cool wind rustling through their thin, ragged clothing, which were soon to be shed. Hours upon hours went their silent holding, wandering lips and hands finding a certain romance in their touching. Night came and went, and not a second of sleep was captured by either of the quiet lovers. No words had to be spoken, and none were until morning.

"You're beautiful," Snitch said as he watched her pull on her shoes.

Irish blushed a little, leaning down to kiss him before replying. "Thanks, but we ought to get down there, sellin' is gonna be a bit tricky without sleep." Irish paused and looked at the traces of glimmering sun hitting the horizon. "Looks like I'll be in Manhattan for a few days…" Irish smiled at the thought.

Snitch pulled himself to his feet and slipped his arms around her waist, kissing her neck gently. "Well that'll definitely make me a happy man, maybe one of these days I can convince you to stay in Manhattan with me."

Irish snorted at the thought. "Fat chance Snitch, Brooklyn's more suitable for a goil like me anyways. My friends are there… y'know…" Irish trailed off, knowing that Snitch would be disappointed by her reaction.

Snitch shrugged it off. "I'm just lucky you're even my goil…" he said as he went back to nibbling on her neck.

Irish giggled and pushed his lips from her neck. "C'mon Snitch, we gotta get downstairs before anyone suspects anything."

Snitch rolled his eyes and let her lead him back down and they snuck back into the lodging house, catching the last hour of sleep that they could.


	10. Another Cliffhanger haha

Bitter left the sleeping boy to his rest while she went to the bathroom to bathe, trying to rid herself of the splitting headache she had achieved thanks to the whiskey she consumed the night before. She pulled herself out just in time, for the first few newsgirls were wakening. Almost running over a dark brown haired girl, a few years younger than herself, she muttered an excuse me. She found the piercing green eyes of the skinny girl dance as she smiled, illuminating the many freckles scattered on her face.

"I'se Spunk!" she said, smiling broadly and holding her hand out.

"Bittah… but you probably already knew that." Bitter's voice was tired and unpleasant and she sauntered away without shaking the girl's hand, holding her head as it began to ache more.

Ignoring the rest of the happy newsgirls that passed, Bitter made her way back to the room she spent the night in. Spot had disappeared, but she couldn't care less at that moment. She curled up on the end of the bed and attempted to sleep off her hangover.

Snitch disappeared before Irish awoke, leaving her to herself for a few hours. The only one left in the girl's bunkroom was the tall gypsy girl, who Irish had come to know as Gip just from conversation. A pair of arms was wrapped around her waist and the rest of Spec's body was only revealed a minute later when he reluctantly left his beautiful gypsy girlfriend.

Irish found Gip's illuminated blue eyes upon her, cheeks flushed from her previous activities. "Irish right?" she asked.

A nod from Irish and Gip continued. "I'm Gip, but you probably already knew dat. You gonna sell today, cause I wouldn't mind your company. It's not that I'm trying to be nice, cause I'm not like that. Just figured we might get along…" Gip's face was lit up in a genuine smile and she walked towards her, holding out her hand.

"Sure thing, let me grab me shoes," was Irish's reply.

The day was bright, glaring against the dark clothing of Irish's clothes. It was just about noon, and a bad time to be getting started, but neither cared. Gip said she had someone buy her papers earlier and knew where she would be. Up on the corner by a bakery and a flower shop, stood a tall dark skinned girl, her glasses glinting in the sunlight, hiding her brown eyes from being revealed. Her dark brown hair fell past her shoulders. A line of sweat lined her forehead as she hawked the headlines. Her black pants were rolled up to her knees, her blue gray shirt unbuttoned and the long sleeves of her gray undershirt were rolled up past her elbows.

"Hey Lavender, how's selling goin?" Gip asked as they approached her selling spot.

"It's alright, but is sure is hot out taday," Lavender said, taking a moment to wipe the sweat off of her forehead with her ink stained hands. "Reminds me of last summer when me an' Skitts started being sweet on each other," Lavender smiled to herself as she remembered fond memories of last summer's fling.

Remembering why the girls were there she counted 30 out of her stack of papers and handed them to Gip. She turned her attention to Irish for a moment. "So you an' dat fiery blonde stayin' in Manhattan for a while?" she asked, curious to know if the rumors were true.

"Yeah, most likely… we'll see…" Irish spoke uncertainly, she hadn't really confirmed with Bitter just what exactly they were going to be doing here and how long it would be until they were to leave.

Lavender shrugged. "Well maybe we'll get a chance to see more of each other than… if you ain't too busy with Snitch," Lavender said with a wink. All three of them laughed at that.

"We'll see ya latah Lavender," Gip laughed, pulling Irish all the way to Central Park.

"You kin just owe me," Gip said as she divided up the papers. They both took a moment to scan the headlines before separating, hawking exaggerated phrases as they both made their way to different parts of the crowded park.

It was only an hour or two until the girls were out of papers. The day was sweltering with heat, and the two sat down under a large oak tree. "What now Gip?" Irish asked, wiping the sweat off of her forehead.

"Let's get some lunch, I know this decent place a few blocks away, not too far," Gip suggested, getting up and stretching her tall lanky body.

Irish scowled at the thought of trudging back out into the heat and reluctantly rose from her sprawled position on the soft grass. "Lead the way…" Irish said, her voice anything but enthusiastic.

Night had fallen rather suddenly, cooling the day into subtle, but windy warmth. It was Corduroy who found Bitter sleeping in the side room, her grey eyes glowing with amusement as she tried to wake the grumpy, hung over girl. She had to dodge Bitter's quick arm, attempting to swat the girl away.

"Bittah…" she sung softly.

"Leave me de fuck alone," Bitter muttered into the bed. Her short blonde hair was a mess of tangles and there were red wrinkles on the one cheek exposed from her disgruntled sleeping.

"Don't be an ass, get the fuck out of bed," Corduroy grabbed her by the foot and dragged her out of the bed. Bitter landed with a 'thump' and a groan was elicited from her lips.

"Now get your hungover ass out of bed and take a cold shower," Corduroy could help but smirk as she lifted the girl to her feet and gave her a push towards the bathroom.

Corduroy couldn't help but making things worse for Bitter, hollering for her to hurry up every five minutes that passed.

"Where de fuck is Irish?" Bitter scowled as she exited the bathroom to find an amused Corduroy sitting right outside the door.

"Well she was sellin' with Gip I think, but nobody has seen the two except Lavender, who saw them around noon," Corduroy said as she looked around. "Spot's gone too, but I figured that would happen pretty quickly. He's out with Jack, looking for someone … I hoid a few things but I don't know if theyre true or not..." Corduroy paused to see if anyone was around.

"A gang or sumthing…" she whispered.

Bitter nodded and started to head down the stairs, ready to search all of Manhattan for that gang herself. Her plan was foiled, or at least put back, for the moment she opened the door, a bruised, bleeding and barely conscious Gip collapsed through the doorway.


	11. Fight

"Jesus Christ!" Bitter let the holy name slip through her lips as she just barely caught her. The dead weight of the taller, unconscious girl made Bitter start to fall backwards. A pair of hands came to her aide, holding her up by her back, a grunt elicited from behind her.

"Can we get some fuckin' help ovah heah?" Illusion hollered, specifically at her shocked boyfriend Bumlets, whose feet seemed to be momentarily glued to the floor.

"Help!" Bitter shrieked as she started to lose her grip on Gip's body, the slickness of the blood now covering her hands making it hard to hold on for much longer.

Bumlets and Skittery, who had also been watching them dumbfounded, finally rushed forward to help. They gathered Gip's limp body in their arms and, together, slowly ascended the staircase to the room in which Bitter had spent her day sleeping in, known as the sick room. With Illusion and Bitter tailing them, they successfully placed her on the bottom bunk.

"I'll get some bandages and peroxide, Bitter see how bad her wounds are," Illusion ordered, hurrying to find some supplies.

Bitter hurried the concerned newsboys out of the room and closed the door quickly behind them. On instinct, Bitter started where the blood had gathered the most, ripping the once white shirt clad upon the girl's body. Revealed on Gip's stomach was a straight, bloody cut that ran from under her left breast to her side, almost 6 inches long.

Illusion rushed in, balancing a bowl of water, old towels, bandages, and a bottle of peroxide. Jumping up to help her, Bitter grabbed the towels and bandages, shutting the door again to keep away curious eyes. Illusion nabbed a towel and soaked it in the warm water, carefully cleaning up the horrible looking cut.

The door creaked open and a freckled, pale face appeared, blue-green eyes filled with tears. Snicker entered the room silently, speaking quietly. "If only I hadn't lost her knife in dat fight… she woulda been ok.." Tears streamed down her face and Bitter moved aside, letting her take her spot beside the bunk. Snicker quietly looked over the bruises and scratches. "Oh Gip, how did they find you? I tried so hard, we all did, how did they find you?" Snicker spoke gently, voice full of fear and concern for her friend.

"Who?" Bitter inquired. "Who are they? Who did this?"

Snicker sighed, having both Illusion and Bitter's attention.

"The Butterfly Gang," a meek voice came from the bunk. Gip's blue eyes were full of pain and she gritted her teeth as she spoke. "I need some liquor, could I get some liquor…"

Bitter pulled a small flask from her pocket and unwound the cap, holding the drink to her lips. Nodding when finished, Gip licked the remaining whiskey off of her lips. "They're called dat for de knives dey carry," Gip groaned a little as Illusion continued to clean her wound.

"But why are dey aftah you?" Bitter asked.

"Now dat is a bit of a story right dere.." Gip's eyes flashed as she spoke. "But we don't got times fer stories, Irish is out dere wit dem, she told me ta get outta dere, dere were only three of dem, but you gots to find her, she's somewhere near Central park… at least I hope she's still dere..." Gip's voice was full of urgency.

Bitter had feared this and was quickly on her feet and racing out the door. Not caring that she knocked over a few newsies on her way out, she forced a path out of the lodging house and into the streets. Her muscular legs carried her quickly to Central Park, ignoring the hollers of anger that trailed after her as she pushed through crowd after crowd. She searched through every alley, abandoned corner, and street.

When she came upon her friend, Irish was trapped against a brick wall, in what seemed like the darkest, most desolate alley around this part of town. One of the boys that she recognized to be Horror was slumped against the wall unconscious. The other named Chameleon, who she had worked over before, was nursing his wounded hand and clutching his nether regions in pain.

Bitter almost laughed, seeing how Irish had disabled the boy, but her attention was attracted to the third boy, who had Irish held against the wall. He was slamming her arm against the wall repeatedly, attempting to know the switchblade from her hand.

Hurrying to Irish's aide, Bitter pushed Prowler aside and grabbed the boy holding Irish by his curly brown hair and yanked him off of her. His yellow eyes glimmered angrily as he turned his attention to Bitter. She drew back her fist and slammed it into his face. He took a step back, barely phased. She did not hesitate and kicked him hard in the stomach, knocking him back against the wall where he had been holding Irish a minute earlier.

"You alright Irish?" Bitter inquired, never taking her eyes off the boy in front of her. He stood at 5'8", only three inches above her, and was of medium build. Guys like this were usually of little threat to Bitter, but she could tell he was different, she could see it in his dangerous yellow eyes.

"I'se fine!" Irish called, having set to work on Prowler. "Nice ta see ya Bitter."

Bitter didn't have time to reply for she had to dodge the boy's sudden charge at her. Her eyes widened as he pulled a double-bladed knife on her, just barely missing Bitter's cheek as she ducked. She backed up feeling for the dagger that was holstered to her thigh. The boy rushed her again and she aimed low with her dagger, sidestepping as he missed her once more, swiping the dagger as he moved, grazing his outer right thigh.

"Don't think you'll win little girl, I'se been missin' on purpose," the boy growled lowly. With one quick move, he had her face first against the wall, slamming her head into the bricks and then pulling her back towards him once he was convinced some of her strength was vanished. Pulling her body close, he held the blade against her neck and used his free hand to wring the dagger free from her hand. Her resistance to losing her weapon caused him to cut her right hand. Once free, the boy threw the dagger to the far side of the alley. Bitter watched it disappear into the darkness with a feeling of dread, her head spinning.

"Don't move a muscle!" the boy hollered at Irish, who had turned her attention to Bitter's current situation, leaving a wounded Prowler on the ground.

"Get out of here or I'll kill her," the boy growled. "You make one false move and I'll slit her throat." He pressed the sharp knife harder against Bitter's throat, making it impossible for her to speak without the knife cutting into her flesh.

Irish reluctantly flicked her switchblade closed and placed it in her pocket. She walked slowly out of the alley, unsure of what to do. Once at the entrance, she darted quickly away, hopefully to go find some help.

"Get Horror and yourself out of heah, I'll take care of her," the boy ordered, the obvious leader of the gang. He didn't loosen his grip on Bitter for even a second. Once the two boys were gone, he began to drag her further back into the darkness.

Regaining her ability to speak without being harmed, Bitter spoke. "If you t'ink you'se gonna do anything but kill me den you got yerself mistaken, 'cause I'd rather die den let you…" Bitter was interrupted by the rough laughter of her captor.

"I'se gonna let you go, but not before someone talks to you…" the boy said. "She wouldn't let me do something like dat even if I was dat type of guy." He kept his knife close to her neck as they continued walking.

"You kin let go of her already Blade," a female voice spoke from the shadows.

The flickering light in the alley revealed Bitter's former friend. Having been let go, Bitter jumped at the girl, her fists flailing. Before she could connect a punch to Shooter's face, Blade's rough hands grabbed a hold of her and held her once again, his knife letting her know he meant business as it roughly was pushed against her throat again.

He laughed. "You'se one spirited goil, aren't ya Bittah." If they had been in any normal position, Bitter might've found the boy's voice intoxicating and sexy, but the malice in his voice only angered her more.

"Now listen to me Bittah… if you don't want you or any of your friends to get hoit, I suggest y'all stop protecting that Gypsy girl… Next time we meet, I'm not going to be able to protect you."

Seeing the new, horrible person that Shooter had become, Bitter couldn't hold in her anger. Spitting at her former friend, she screamed, "Fuck you Shooter, fuck you!"

"Don't say I didn't warn you…" there was no kindness left in the girl's face and Bitter knew now that she was no longer the friend she had once known.

Shooter disappeared back into the shadows and without warning, Blade's arm connected with Bitter's skull, blackening the world around her.


	12. Kidnapping

Irish found help closer then she thought, running right into Spot and Jack, literally. Having knocked all three of them over, Irish climbed back up on her feet and spoke hurriedly, before she had even breath to. "Bittah… danger… Central Park," Irish gasped, as the boys looked at her in shock.

Getting back on their feet, Spot took control of the situation. "Say no more, lead the way Irish."

Leading the boys through a labyrinth of darkened alleys, lighted only by the flickering lights of street lamps, Irish came to an abrupt stop. Unsure of herself, she looked around, eyes wild with fear. The alley looked like every empty one they had passed through.

As she was about to claim to the boys that this couldn't be where she had last seen her friend, Spot leaned down and withdrew Bitter's trusty dagger from the ground, still wet with blood. Irish watched as Spot's eyes widened with fear and his icy blue eyes burned into hers.

"She was ok when you left her right?" Spot asked, his eyes clouding over with anger, frustration and fear.

Irish nodded. "But there was a boy who was holding a knife to her neck, he said he'd moidah her if I didn't leave… I don't know what he was going to do to her," Irish said, scared to death of what might have happened to Bitter.

Spot punched the wall in distress, making both Irish and Jack jump. "I'll kill 'em if they lay one fingah on her…" he growled lowly, his teeth gritted together in anger.

Jack and Irish followed as he stalked out of the alley, fury pumping through his veins. It was almost impossible to convince him to come back to the lodging house. They followed as he searched a good few blocks, up and down, meticulous even in his angry mood.

"Spot dere's no use… we have no idea where dey are an' it's almost pitch black out," Jack reasoned as Spot knocked down yet another ancient door, leading to another empty warehouse room.

"We kin look first t'ing t'morrow Spot, I swear… we all need rest… and maybe then we kin find more out about this gang from Gip…" Irish caught his attention with that, and Spot subsided to calling it a night.

"First t'ing in de mornin', an' you talk to dis gypsy girl t'night, got it?" Spot's voice was lined with fear and anger.

"Fine, now let's get outta heah, this part of town gives me de creeps…" Irish spoke softly, as if she spoke above a whisper, a million shadows would attack her. With that, the trio trudged their way back to the lodging house and went their separate ways.

Bitter awoke in the dark, her splitting headache releasing sharp pains into her head. She found her position awkward and found that her hands been had bound behind her with tight rope, digging into her skin. Shifting her legs, she found that they two were bound with the same thick rope.

Startled by the blinding light that seeped through the door, Bitter found her eyes coming upon a young boy, standing a little over five feet. He couldn't have been more then eleven years old. In his hands he carried a cup of water and a piece of moldy bread.

Bitter found herself pitying the small, blonde-haired boy, for she herself had been initiated into a gang at a young age. His red, chaffed hands trembled as he reached the bread to her lips, his insistent blue eyes helping her to bite into the hard moldy bread.

He spoke only as he finished feeding her the bread and water. "Shootah said ta let ya eat, but dat she's sorry dat she kin not untie yer hands fer yer own protection, much apologies Miss Bittah, an' I'se also been told ta gag you, jist in case ya git de urge to scream fer help," the boy said as he leaned down over her, pulling a dirty black bandanna from his pocket.

Bitter wondered to herself of the true color that the bandanna had once been as the boy shoved it into her mouth. Tying a thick string around her head and over her mouth, she tried hard to not choke on the grimy dirt that was sliding down her mouth.

If Shooter had sent someone older and less innocent looking, she would've fought like no tomorrow. Shooter knew her well, she knew her weaknesses and she was using that against her. The boy smiled and then kicked her hard in the stomach. "Dat's fer hurtin' Blade," the boy said as he spat on her, his once kind blue eyes revealing the true, cruel nature. He laughed as Bitter winced in pain, her cursing only murmurs thanks to the gag.

Closing the door behind him, she heard a click as he locked the door from outside. Bitter really had no chance of escaping, and she hated knowing it.


	13. Gip's Story

Knocking gently on the door to the sick room, Irish pushed it open slowly. A worried looking Specs was leaning over the bunk, his black hat hanging on the post beside him. His hand was gently stroking Gip's rosy, soft cheek with love and affection. Her side had been bandaged and a shirt once again covered her. Irish wished not to disturb the girl's slumber, but she needed to know what was going on.

Fortunately for Irish, she did not have to wake her, for Gip's eyes fluttered open at that second, her lips eliciting a gasp of pain as she awoke. Her eyes moved from her sweetheart to Irish and she attempted a smile.

"Specs, go get something ta eat, I ain't gonna die if you leave my side y'know." The boy opened his mouth to object when Gip interrupted. "I need ta talk ta Irish anways, airight?"

After glancing over at Irish, Specs leaned down and kissed her gently on the lips. "I wont be gone more den an hour, okay?" Specs said, grabbing his hat and smiling sadly with concern, he turned and walked out the door.

Irish shut the door after Gip's reluctant boyfriend, and pulled an old wooden chair up next to the bunk. "How ya feelin' Gip?" Irish asked.

"Fine, but what happened when I left? Wheah's Bittah? Are ya hoit at all?" Gip looked worried, her paling face making her look like a broken, defeated animal.

"I'm fine, but Bittah's gone, we t'ink de gang's got 'er somewhere," Irish rubbed her eyes. It had been a long day and Irish couldn't contain her emotions any longer. Her eyes welled up and silent tears streamed down her cheeks, creating a pool of water on her dirty, black shirt.

"I jist don't know what to do… Why is all dis happening?" Irish buried her face in her hands.

Gip swallowed her pride and spoke the truth. "It's because of me…"

Irish looked up, shocked, her tears reddening her cheeks. "But…"

"Just let me explain… let me tell you what happened…" Gip waited for a nod from Irish before beginning her tale.

_I was new to the Bronx. I didn't have a place to call my own, or nothing. One dark night found me at a small run down joint that smelled of shit and piss, but the liquor was famous throughout the Bronx. Not terribly expensive either. Of course it was no place for a woman to be, and I found that out pretty fast._

_Each pair of lust-filled eyes was on me as I entered, claiming a seat for myself and starting my long order of drinks. I was quick to ignore the prying eyes of the many men there, until one character decided he was brave enough to approach me. He was handsome with longer black hair hiding his dark grey eyes, and he was a tall lanky guy, towering at a height of almost six feet. I wasn't at all in the mood for men tonight and he definitely didn't know who he was dealing with as he approached, that was for certain._

"_Hey toots, whatcha doin' in a place like dis all by your lonesome," he took a seat next to me as he spoke. I tried to be a good girl and ignore him, but he wouldn't take my silence for an answer._

"_Hey, I'm talkin' ta ya!" he grabbed my arm, making me spill my bourbon. _

_That was the last straw, the last of my withering patience spent. I pulled my switchblade from my pocket, flicking it open and gashing the arm that had made me spill my drink. "Don't you speak that way to me," I growled through gritted teeth._

_Flicking his own knife out, a butterfly knife mind you, he swung it at me, but I blocked it, gashing him across the cheek. He was much more intoxicated then myself, and therefore his balance was very much off. I caught his arm as he swiped at me again, breaking his middle finger as I wretched the knife away from him, sending him to the ground as I did so.._

_Everyone's eyes were on us, and his cheeks were flushed in embarrassment. He rose to his feet and growled at me, "I'll get you for dis" and with that he ran out of the place. I found out later that night exactly who he was. The bar was full of whispering men after that and I easily got the information out of one man by simply waving my knife in his face. _

_Shade, the cousin of the infamous Blade, the leader of the Butterfly gang, that's who he was. But that isn't the end of the story._

_Morning found me asleep in the nearest empty building. It was a kick that woke me, not a gentle, prodding kick, but a brutal, painful kick that was landed in my ribcage. I was quick to my feet, standing to meet my attacker. The instant recognition of Shade threw me off a little and he took advantage of it, throwing me against the nearest wall. "I'd like me knife back…" he growled, wrenching my arm behind me, twisting it painfully._

_His hands intruded upon my pockets and I grimaced in disgust. He found what he was searching for and pushed me to the ground. "An' now it's time ta teach you a lesson…" he lunged at me, knife glinting in the sunlight. I pushed him away with my feet, grabbing my own switchblade and flicking it open. _

"_Ya went through all de trouble ta find me jist to be beat again, eh?" I smiled as I gashed his left thigh, dodging his next attack. _

_He only growled again and did something I definitely did not expect. He dropped his knife and pulled a pistol from his pocket, pointing it directly at me. "I don't think so… now drop the knife…" Shade growled, stepping closer, releasing the safety on the gun. _

_I gulped, unsure of how to defend against a weapon of that caliber. The sound of metal connecting with the concrete made me close my eyes and wish for heaven to take me. _

_His steps were slow and cautious as he bent to grab my blade. A sudden lack of fear made my body react in one last suicidal attempt; I connected my fist with his face and my knee with his stomach, the small pistol released and falling to the ground. I dove as did he and my hand reached it first. We hit the ground and the gun was right against his head, my finger on the trigger…I closed my eyes and BANG!_

"Well… these t'ings happen…" Gip's pale face emphasized her glowing blue eyes, danger and fear mixing to make it impossible for Irish to turn her eyes away, to break the gaze. Irish nodded, knowingly, unable to think of Gip as the murderer that she was.

"Yes, those t'ings happen…" Irish trailed off, scared to death for Bitter, for Gip, and for herself.


	14. Scary stuff and emotions

Spells of unconsciousness revived Bitter's body over the course of her first day of capture. Her stomach lurched with hunger and only once had the boy come back with food. Her eyes were adjusting to the dark of the room, revealing that it was as bare as can be, not even a window she could use for escape.

Light blinded her once again and two figures passed through before the darkness engulfed the room again. The familiar faces of Prowler and Chameleon appeared before her. Narrowing her green eyes at the boys, she said something muffled behind the gag.

"Shut yer trap, bitch," Chameleon smirked, his foot connecting with her stomach painfully.

Prowler scowled and hit his companion over the head. "Be quiet," he hissed. "If Shootah finds out about this, we're in for a beating!"

Chameleon took his voice a step down. "I guess dat means we're leaving this bitch gagged, eh?" he smirked as they turned their attention back to Bitter, who eyes were wide with fear.

"Now you kin make dis hard for yerself, or you kin make it easy, either way we're gonna get our fun," Prowler flipped out his butterfly knife as he spoke. He held it to her throat, chuckling as she gulped, her eyes staring at him, her fear showing through the bright green her eyes had turned. "Not so tough are you now Bittah?"

He trailed the knife down her chest, past her stomach and paused at her lower region. "Quit foolin' around, we don't got much time 'fore Blade and Shootah get back…" Chameleon hissed.

Bitter closed her eyes as Prowler raised his arm. She heard a faint "clink" as it tore through the ropes binding her feet together and then hitting the floor. Bitter let out a ragged breath and the boys chuckled quietly.

"Scared?" Chameleon sniggered.

As Prowler leaned over her, tossing the cut rope aside, she drew her legs back and pushed them out hard, knocking the boy on his back. Chameleon foolishly made a grab for her feet, earning himself a kick in the face. Bitter fended the boys off for a good few minutes before they smartened up.

Prowler tried to grab her feet, distracting Bitter from Chameleon, who was sneaking around back, pulling his knife and holding it to her throat. "I'd stop struggling if I were you…" he hissed in her ear, pulling on her hair as he pressed the knife closer to her throat.

All kicking ceased and she felt the knife lower down to her shoulder blade. Searing pain shot through her right shoulder as the knife cut deep, Chameleon's voice whispering in her ear. "That'll teach you to fight…" he put the blade away, hitting her hard across the head, causing her to almost black out.

Her body went limp and Prowler started to unbutton her pants. Light filled the room once again and a very angry looking young man stepped through. His icy blue eyes glowed dangerously. "Keep your hands off of her…" Spot growled, jumping on the surprised looking boy. He set to work on his face, getting him to the ground before Chameleon made his attempt at fighting the spirited Brooklyn newsboy.

There was no use trying, Spot's anger feed his strength, not even taking a blow before landing both boys to the ground on their backs, groaning in pain. Satisfied that they weren't going to be standing in the next few minutes, he kneeled down beside Bitter.

"You ok Bitts?" he asked, removing the gag from her mouth and pulling a knife out to cut her hands free.

Bitter shook her head. "Shit Spot dey cut up my shoulder," she muttered, looking at her wound and grimacing. Her head spun as Spot gently got her to her feet. Her body wasn't listening to her, it would not move.

Spot frowned with worry, scooping her into his arms and hurrying out of the room and down the stairs. The old warehouse was practically empty and an easy escape for the two, luckily. The boys were too slow to follow and cursed their bad luck.

"That's not going to go ovah too well with Shootah…" Prowler muttered, kicking the door.

-

Whispers once again filled the Manhattan lodging house, everyone thought they knew the same story, and anyone who really knew what was going on was about to tell them the honest truth. It had been barely an hour since Spot had rushed in, carrying the bleeding girl in his arms, disappearing as fast as he appeared. The only people that entered the room she was in were Spot, Irish and Specs (seeing as Gip was also in there).

The door flew open and out came an exasperated looking Irish Flare. Spot followed, hissing at her in a whispered voice. "Get back in heah Irish…" Spot pleaded.

Irish glared at him, "No… you have to be dere when she wakes up… I swear ta Gawd Spot, don't let your murderous instincts overcome ya, she needs you now!" she growled, pacing back and forth.

Spot gritted his teeth. She knew he was right, but he needed to act now; he needed to take out his increasing rage before it got out of control, before he hurt someone he loved. "I'll be back 'fore she wakes up… jist stay with her ok?" His eyes were full of rage and he had to try his best not to raise his voice.

Irish threw her hands up in defeat. "Fine, but if you ain't back by the time she wakes up, I'se gonna soak ya good…" with that said, she walked back into the room, shutting it in his face.

Spot hurried down the stairs, finding Jack watching from the stairs. "Jack," he said as he approached him. "I gots ta take care of somethin'…"

"I'll go with you," Jack interrupted, knowing already where he was off to.

Jack followed Spot closely as he strode forward his short legs taking surprisingly large, hurried steps. His fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles were white. "Dis is it…" he stopped in front of the decrepit, rotting apartments, long since evicted.

Wincing as Spot almost tore the door of its hinges, he followed with more reluctance. Upon finding nothing, the rage of the Brooklyn boy got the best of him and he started to tear the place apart. Any item in his way was thrown against the wall and angry grunts were the only reply to Jack's attempts to calm him down.

A good few minutes and Spot sank to his knees, defeated. His eyes were sparkling with unwelcome tears and he spoke in ragged sobs. "It jist ain't fair… why her? I could've done something… I could've gotten dere sooner, then she wouldn't be hoit, she wouldn't be bleedin'…" Spot spoke, doubled over in the pain that was growing in his heart, the hurting love for Bitter that overcame him as quickly as the plague.

Laying a hand on Spot's back, Jack searched for comforting words, for something that would make sense to say. He stayed silent, letting Spot break the awkward moment with a quick recovery. He stood, wiping his tormenting tears from his eyes. "It's gonna be fine, right Jack? She ain't even dying," he laughed awkwardly, trying to push some logic into his brain, trying to feel optimistic.

Even Spot knew the lie. Everything was not going to be just fine. Jack's silence deepened his thoughts and he started walking, walking back to the troubles that would not be ending anytime soon.


	15. Brooklyn and Romance

Bitter was back on her feet after a day or two. Her loss of blood caused her floods of dizzy spells that lasted a good day or so. She didn't mind being bed-ridden so much. She kept an eye on Gip, and talked to her whenever she was awake. Gip was recovering phenomenally well. She could almost sit up without causing her wound through the makeshift stitches Irish had sewn across her stomach.

Spot had not been to see Bitter since she had woken up. Irish Flare wouldn't tell her about it and Bitter was so defeated she didn't fight her friend on it. She knew something was going on, she didn't understand it and no one would explain what was happening with Spot Conlon.

Bitter wasn't one to sit still for too long. Her shoulder still ached with pain, but she needed to find Spot. Gip watched as she rose from bed, not eliciting a single word. Gip herself was healing faster than expected and raised herself on her elbows to watch Bitter gather her things.

Bitter pulled on her pair of shorts, holstering her dagger in its rightful place on her right thigh. She tugged on her washed blue button down shirt with difficulty. "Fuckin' shoulder" she muttered quietly.

"Goin' somewheah?" Gip finally asked.

"Yeah, Brooklyn… I'll be back in a day just in case anyone come inquirin' aftah me," Bitter smirked at her new friend and walked over to her. "Jist don't go fightin' off dis gang without me…"

"You wont have to worry about dat," Gip laughed as she laid back down. "Be careful on yer way.. of both the gang an' Spot. He ain't himself lately."

Bitter rolled her eyes. "Don't be startin' dat kinda talk now. I bettah git goin' 'fore you start off like Irish, claim' he's smitten with me."

Gip just chuckled and watched as Bitter peered out the door, escaping once the coast was clear. It wasn't the most sensible route, but Bitter made her way to the girl's bunkroom. The fire escape had always been Bitter's favorite way out of the lodging house. There were many times during her stay in Manhattan that she found it very useful.

Bitter knew there was a chance she would run into Irish Flare on her way out, but she wasn't too concerned about that. She peered into the room cautiously and found only a few Manhattan newsgirls around. Corduroy and Jittery were playing a hand of cards in one corner, while Half-Pint and Kit were laughing in the middle of the room, sharing the latest gossip. The only other person present was Flit, who was daydreaming by the window.

Flit jumped as Bitter snuck up behind her, reaching over to slide open the window. Her face turned a few shades of red at the sudden disturbance of her thoughts, most likely of David. Before she could elicit a complaint, Bitter was through the window and heading down the fire escape.

It was a hard walk back to Brooklyn for Bitter. Her arm ached something awful and the rest of her body was still recovering from the fatigue caused by her blood loss two days earlier. Night had fallen long before she reached the lodging house and most everyone was already inside and most likely asleep. Bitter left a few coins at the abandoned desk, signed the lodger and silently made her way to her bunk. She was out like a light before her head even hit the ratty old pillow.

Whispered voices awoke her form a feverish sleep and two pairs of green eyes glowed with the same look of concern in them. Bitter blinked and rubbed her eyes, realizing that she wasn't seeing double. One pair gleaming emerald green she found belonged to Books and the other pair to Maverick. A hand found her forehead and she looked at Books strangely.

A frown crossed over her face and she spoke as she removed her hand. "I'm going to get some ice, yer burnin' up pretty badly…"

Bitter groaned in response, still groggy and didn't do anything but watch as she left. Left with her was a concerned but smirking Maverick. "Don't tell me. Ya walked all de way heah aftah only a day of recovery from dat nice stab wound ya got in your shoulder?"

A nod from Bitter and she smiled broadly. "Well its good ta know ya haven't lost yer toughness about ya, bein' stuck in Manhattan fer dat long!"

"Wheah's Spot?" Bitter spoke finally, her voice gruff with drowsiness.

"He's out sellin' an' den takin' care of some business wit his boids…" Books interrupted, hovering over Bitter to place the bag of ice on her head.

"Us goils made suah he didn't find out yer heah yet, but he's suah ta notice eventually…" Maverick added, sitting down on the edge of the bunk and pulling her knees to her chest.

"We missed ya Bittah, ain't been da same withoutcha heah." Books smiled, adjusting the blankets around Bitter's shivering body before getting up to leave. "Mav's gonna watch ovah ya for a bit while I sell me papes."

"See ya latah Books, an' I missed all a ya too," Bitter spoke gently. The cold ice was helping her pounding scorching head and she closed her eyes, drifting back into slumber.

Consciousness came and went. Vague images of her Brooklyn girls spun in and out of vision. Hiccups feeding her a few bites of soup. Relic helping her to the bathroom. Winter trying to read a funny dime novel to her and getting no response. It was Buttercup Tate's voice that she finally awoke to. Her body was covered in layers of sweat and she could feel that the fever had lifted from her.

"Spot doesn't need to know until tomorrow. He'll just get concerned! At least wait until her fever breaks. The last thing we need is for Conlon to be more disgruntled than usual." Her voice was soft but serious as she spoke. As Bitter's eyes opened, she could see the back of the lean muscular body of Spot's right hand man Captain. His arms were crossed over his chest and he didn't seem to be giving into any of Buttercup's protests.

"Jist let de ass tell our great leader of my damn presence." Unsteady elbows held Bitter up in a sitting position and her once flustered face was paled with a smirk planted firmly between her dimples.

Shock came over the pair and Captain was the first to recover. He glared slightly at Bitter from their last encounter and then exited, leaving the two girls to their privacy.

Buttercup strode over quickly and pulled her friend into a gentle hug. "I was starting to get worried about ya…"

Bitter chuckled and as Buttercup released her, she found the energy to pull her body fully up and swing her legs to the floor. "Now before Spot comes a hollerin' I think I better get a wash in and a change of clothes on me back," Bitter said as she stood up unsteadily.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say yer tryin' ta look good for dat boy…" Buttercup laughed, putting an arm around her friend's waist and helping her to the bathroom.

"Nevah!" Bitter chuckled. "Now get me some clothes and I don't care who you steal dem from!"

"Yes ma'am," Buttercup laughed as Bitter grabbed a towel and lashed it out at her.

Buttercup disappeared down the hall and Bitter ran a shower. She leaned against the wall, letting her body cool off beneath the cold water. By the time she was done, there was a fresh set of boy's clothes, suspenders and all waiting for her. She dried off and pulled them on. Just the way she liked clothes to fit: baggy but still fitting pretty decent.

She breathed in deeply, feeling her energy somewhat restored from the shower. She opened the door slowly, ready to face the music.

Peering out of the bathroom, Bitter took careful steps down the hallway, tugging her silver chain form beneath her shirt and kissing the small silver cross for luck. She balled up her fist as she approached the door to Spot's room and hit it gently on the door. There was a slight scuffle, but the door didn't open.

"Spot…" Bitter whispered, opening the door and peering into the room. He was laying on his back and staring up at the ceiling from his bed when she entered. Hands behind his head, he turned it ever so slightly, sitting up abruptly as she entered.

"Bittah?" Spot's eyes were clouded over and there were dark bags under his eyes from lack of sleep.

"Dat's me name Spot," Bitter teased as his face lit up in genuine happiness. It was probably one of the few times he had smiled that week. She shut the door behind her and Spot did something unexpected: he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a hug.

"I'se so glad yer heah! Been missin' Brooklyn like me I bet?" he pulled back and blushed slightly seeing the surprised look on her face. "Sorry, I uh…missed you…"

Bitter smiled warmly and asked, "So, you're not mad?"

Spot chuckled. "How can I be mad at you for returning home? We both need a break from all de fighting, all de problems that are going on in Manhattan. We need ta clear our heads." Taking her hand, he pulled her towards the window. Out side the bustle of daily life was in full throttle and the streets were packed. Across all the streets were the docks, the sun glared on the traces of water and it reminded her of all the fun they had been having just a week ago, when nothing kept them from their careless freedoms of life.

"Let's go swimmin' Bittah," Spot said suddenly.

Bitter looked him over carefully. She could see the fear in his ice blue eyes, the panic he was trying so hard to push away and all the emotions she herself was feeling. Maybe some fun would do the two of them some good. "Sure Spot, we'll go swimming."

It wasn't hard to leave the lodging house, as long as you didn't use the front door. If you went through the front half of the place, newsies would stop you, ask what you're up to and before you knew it you'd be doing something totally different from what you had planned on doing all day. That is why when you wanted to leave unnoticed, you used the back doors and fire escapes.

Bitter had to pull the distracted boy back into the room as he started out the door. "You know better than that!" she smirked, dragging him back towards the window. Sure, it was a little dangerous to scale the few feet from the window to the fire escape, but it was quite a thrill.

It wasn't long before the two Brooklynites were on the street, Spot anxiously pushing through the crowd. Easily losing him Bitter stopped in her tracks and scanned the crowd, trying to locate him. A warm hand grabbed her own, shooting a shiver up her spine and Spot shot her a grin. "Don't want you getting lost," he teased, pulling her through the crowd after him.

The day was only half over and the sun wouldn't be setting for another two hours. Bitter peeled off her blue over shirt and untied the holster from her right thigh, leaving it and her dagger in a pile with her shirt. She dived into the cool spring water and felt instant refreshment. She watched as the scab on her shoulder wrinkled and she liked the feeling of cool water against the pulsating hotness that was coming from her shoulder.

A splash sounded and Spot swam over to her, his underpants and shirt revealing quite a bit when wet. Bitter blushed slightly at the sight and she felt his prying eyes on her as she looked away. "How's your shoulder?" he asked, his hand brushing gently against the wound.

"It's healin'," Bitter said, gazing at the wound and feeling her cheeks flush as he kept his hand on her shoulder. She looked up and found his eyes were clear and full of an emotion she couldn't quite grasp. Spot couldn't quite put a hold on the reason she made him feel so dumbfounded around her, with most girls he could have easily felt himself and flirted openly, but something was different about Bitter.

Then something happened that Spot had never thought would, never in his dreams. Bitter leaned forward and captured his lips in a breath-taking kiss, knocking all air out of his lungs and causing his heart to drum against his ribcage. Just when he thought his heart would explode, she pulled away.

Her cheeks were rosy red and his eyes traced the thin material of her undershirt to the natural curves of her body. He couldn't help but indulge in her beauty as he calmed his breath and heart so he could speak. She swam away with a smile playing on her lips, her once green eyes turning into a shade of brilliant blue as she turned from him.

Spot caught up with her, pulling her close, hands on her hips and his eyes searched hers, his lips open as if words were about to come out but none did. She pressed a finger to his lips and pulled him close, her arms wrapping around his waist as they waded in the water. Resting her chin on his shoulder she whispered gently. "You don't need to say a thing, not a thing," her voice was sweet and angelic at that moment, the roughness of it fading with each second.

His fingertips danced along her sides and they stood there, breathing in the deep silence of romance. They swam until dark, never leaving each other's touch and often times just letting their lips speak of their love and want for each other. Dark fell and they knew their obligations to getting back before curfew would override their want for privacy.

Spot begged Bitter to stay the night with him, but she wouldn't, leaving him with one final kiss before leaving his room. "Bitter wait…" he called softly.

"Yes?" she asked with a sparkle in her tired eyes.

"Be my girl?" The question was hardly one at all. She giggled like a schoolgirl and nodded, blowing him a kiss and disappearing into the bunkroom.

Spot fell back on his bed with a smile planted on his face. Goosebumps traveled up his wet skin and he fell asleep to the remembrance of how the soft skin of her body felt in his arms.


End file.
